


Scratching the itch

by marmolita



Series: Matt Murdock's Bad Habits [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Gangbang, Light Masochism, M/M, Multi, Non-Negotiated Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Canon, Under-negotiated Kink, almost fisting but not quite, law school era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3872779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmolita/pseuds/marmolita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's like there's this itch under his skin, this tension that starts building up from nothing until it's consuming him so his nerves are on fire and there's nothing else he can think about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratching the itch

**Author's Note:**

> Combining a couple kinkmeme prompts, one for [a gangbang](https://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/725.html?thread=214741#cmt214741) and one for Matt [getting off on humiliating dirty talk](https://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/725.html?thread=214229#cmt214229) \-- but mostly the gangbang. Technically no warnings because it's consensual, but there is a severe lack of negotiation of boundaries.

It's like there's this itch under his skin, this tension that starts building up from nothing until it's consuming him so his nerves are on fire and there's nothing else he can think about. It's a distraction, one he can't afford, not with finals coming up and so much research to do.

Matt goes to the gym to try to punch it out. It's worked for him on occasion in the past, and it's a lot safer and more expedient than the alternative, so he punches the bag until his knuckles are raw. If he could risk asking one of the guys there to go a few rounds with him, he would, but there's no way to do that without revealing himself so he rinses the blood off, rewraps his knuckles, and starts in on the bag again.

 _Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done . . ._ The prayer grounds him, and he whispers it under his breath while he hits the bag.

 _Forgive us our tresspasses, as we forgive those who tresspass against us._ (forgive me for what I am about to do)

 _And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen._ (please Lord stop me from wanting this, stop me from needing this)

It hurts. It hurts, but it's not enough. Not enough to absolve him of this feeling, to burn out his desires, and when he's sweaty and exhausted he stops and leans his forehead against the bag. The heaving of his chest makes him a little unsteady, and the bag sways with his body. He wants it to come unhooked and fall on top of him, wants to be crushed by its weight.

Instead, he stands up straight and hits the shower, then goes out into the city.

***

It only takes a couple of hours to find what he's looking for. He stops in at the bars where he knows male prostitutes get picked up (he can tell by the smell -- multiple semen contributors and sweaty dollar bills) and in the third one he finds a couple of men standing near the bar who shift their weight between their legs when they see him. Matt makes a show of trailing his fingers along the bar to find the first empty stool near them and sits down.

"Come here often, or do you not even know what kind of a place you just walked into?" the first guy asks. He smells like wood chips, grease, and asphalt. A construction worker, probably. His friend is smaller, slighter, but has the same scents clinging to his clothes and his skin.

"I know exactly what kind of place I just walked into," Matt replies. "You and your friend here just in for drinks or are you looking for something else?" He can feel the change in the air as the men exchange glances. The bigger one leans against the bar next to Matt.

"I got a few buddies ready to meet up with us in a few minutes, but I don't know if a blind guy could handle our sort of party. No offense."

"What, afraid you're going to break me?" Matt laughs. "I've been around the block a few times. You ever blindfolded someone you picked up? It's just like that." It's not, really, but it puts the guys at ease a little bit, and the thrumming in Matt's veins picks up in anticipation. "I don't mind rough handling. In fact, that's what I'm here for." It makes his stomach twist to say it out loud, but he knows by now there are only two ways to scratch this itch, and only one that doesn't involve hurting anyone else.

The man shrugs, or maybe gestures, but even if Matt was focusing enough to tell exactly what he was doing (difficult with his mind as distracted as he is) he'd have to pretend he didn't know anyway. There's a beat where the man realizes that blind guys can't read visual cues, then he says, "How much?"

***

They go to a cheap hotel across the street and the two men's friends meet them there. The first two guys grope Matt's ass on the walk over and it's humiliating but he's so amped up he doesn't care. There are six in all, different sizes and shapes based on the pressure of their steps, the sound of their breathing, and the way they displace the air in the room. Four of them are already hard, the smell of their arousal thick in the air. Matt resists the urge to lash out and beat them all until they're unconscious and bleeding: exactly the thing he's trying to avoid by coming here.

There's some discussion in hushed tones, intended to be whispers, and Matt tries to tune them out and not hear them but a few fragments come through anyway. _He's hot but a blind guy? . . . only wanted cab fare home, says he's not a hooker . . . says he wants it rough._

Matt taps his way over to the bed and sits down on the edge of it, taking off his shoes while they come to an agreement. He can feel one of the guys looking at him and hear the sound of his hand sliding over fly of his jeans. It makes his stomach turn. It makes his skin prickle and his airways constrict.

"Take off your shirt," one of them says, so he does, carefully taking off his glasses, folding them, and setting them next to him on the bed while he pulls his shirt over his head.

He holds out the glasses and his cane in front of him. "One of you want to put these somewhere they won't get broken?" The small guy from the bar takes them and sets them near the door. Matt stands up and then kneels down on the floor. "Let's get this show on the road."

***

They're too careful with him at first and it makes him angry, angry enough that he bites a guy's dick just to piss him off. "What the fuck?!" There's a blissful crack of pain as the guy slaps him across the face.

Matt laughs and grins. "That's more like it. Come on, I thought you guys were gonna be rough." Someone grabs him by the hair and there's a different cock being forced into his mouth, then a second one along with the first, and all Matt can think is: _finally_.

They hold his hair and fuck his mouth mercilessly, taking turns, until he's pretty sure he's got the taste of all six of them down and the itching thrum inside him starts to drown out all his other senses.

"Look at this fucking cock slut," one of the guys says. There's one dick in his mouth but he can hear the wet slap of the five others jerking off and their feet shifting in a circle around him. "Think it's time we find out if that sweet ass is as tight as it looks?"

Someone grabs him under the arms and hauls him up and there are hands at the fly of his jeans, unzipping them and pulling them down along with his underwear. Matt's cock, already hard, bounces up and slaps his stomach when it's freed, and he picks up one leg at a time to kick off his pants. Someone shoves him onto the bed and he crawls up on all fours, legs spread wide. There's the pop of a cap opening, the squelch of a tube being squeezed, and then cold lube is dripping over his asshole and a thick finger is pushing inside. Matt closes his eyes and pushes back, eager for the oblivion that will come from being pushed outside his overactive senses.

They don't prep him much before there's the crinkle of a condom wrapper and the first man is grabbing his hip and pushing inside him and that's fine, he wants it to burn. He doesn't have to try to hold back the sounds he wants to make because he's already being gagged by another dick in his mouth. Someone else is rubbing their lubed up cock on the side of his ass cheek and it shouldn't feel good, he doesn't want it to feel good, but it does. The guy behind him starts up a punishing rhythm and it feels good the way that getting beaten up feels good, like he's having all of his worries physically knocked out of him, like a really good workout that leaves him breathless and aching all over only a workout wasn't enough to do the trick this time.

"God, your ass is so tight," the guy breathes, and it makes Matt's cock twitch. There's another hand on him, rubbing over his ass, squeezing it, slapping. He's choking on the cock in his mouth as every thrust pushes him farther down onto it and the guy in front of him grabs his hair and holds him back. There's another dick rubbing against his cheek, and between the two guys who are jerking off watching, the two rubbing on him, and the two fucking his mouth and ass, the room is loud with heavy breathing and the percussive beat of flesh on flesh.

The guys watching are muttering encouragement like _yeah, fuck him harder,_ and _make him choke on your dick_ and Matt is so fucking hard but he needs both hands for balance and can't touch himself. He thinks maybe he's moaning but his head is getting muddled enough that he's not sure, and this is exactly what he wanted.

The one in his mouth pulls back to rub over his forehead and eyes instead, and at the same time there's a finger pushing into his ass along with the cock already there, stretching him wider. "Jesus Christ, fuck, _fuck_ " he pants, swallowing convulsively.

"Think he can take two?" The men laugh and another finger pushes in.

"Let's find out." The man behind him pulls out and they flip him over, pressing his back into the rough sheets (cotton, low thread count -- why the hell is he still able to tell?) and hauling his legs up in the air. Someone shoves four fingers into his ass and a thin whine escapes from Matt's throat. A hand finally closes over his cock and Matt twists and arches, gasping for air as his senses dim even further. "Pretty boy here fucking loves this, look at that." He's so close to the edge, but the hand only gives him a few tugs then leaves off as the one in his ass adds a fifth finger, pushing in up to the knuckles.

Doing this, finding men to use him like this -- it's not a new thing for Matt. Not a frequent thing, but he's not inexperienced. Still, he's never had it go quite like this, and for a minute he thinks he's going to have a whole hand inside his ass and he's not sure if it's worse that he's afraid of it or that he's excited about it. But then the fingers pull out, and he's being rolled onto his side with a body settling behind him. The first dick pushes in -- a different one than he had in his ass before -- then they roll him back so the man is underneath him; the second man takes position in front and there's an incredible burning stretch as he starts to force himself in as well.

Matt is panting with the effort of trying not to clench up despite the pain, and he lets his head drop back against the guy beneath him's shoulder (which means the guy must be about 6'4", and he _really_ shouldn't be able to calculate things like that right now). Then all of a sudden they're both in, and he's still alive, and the man on top of him is at an angle so that his abdomen is brushing against Matt's cock and finally giving him some friction. They start to move, and between the hot skin rubbing against his cock and the pressure from two dicks inside him making sure his prostate gets nudged by every move, Matt finally starts to lose his senses completely.

He's pretty sure he's saying something, but whether it's a prayer or a string of profanity he's not sure. Maybe both. There are hands on him to hold him still because he can't stop writhing, and then he doesn't have to worry about what he's saying because there's a dick in his mouth again. The guy on top of him starts to lose his rhythm and twitch his hips erratically, and the pressure on Matt's cock is maddening -- almost enough but not quite. He tries to reach down to jerk himself off but someone grabs his hand and puts it on another dick, wrapping a hand around his to make him use the right pressure and speed. He tries to touch himself with his other hand and gets the same treatment, and then the man on top of him is groaning his release and pulling out and someone else is taking his place.

The someone else has an even bigger dick and Matt is pretty sure he screams when it's thrust in -- would be screaming, anyway, if it wasn't muffled by the cock still in his mouth. One of the men takes pity on him and starts jerking him off and the world finally recedes into the agonizing stretch and pressure in his ass, the hot salty tang of precum in his mouth, the blissful/painful friction of a calloused hand on his oversensitized flesh, and the throbbing of his blood rushing through his veins. He's suspended in that moment for what feels like an eternity and then it all blazes out of him, taking his senses along with it, leaving him in a blank empty space where it's wonderfully, perfectly silent.

He comes back into his body little by little: first, the ache in his ass and the feeling of hot, wet come hitting his chest, stomach, and face. Next, the taste of the air, sharp and sour with sweat and come and lube, then the smell of hot and unwashed bodies and sex, not just in this room but in the surrounding rooms. Finally sound, a cacophony of heartbeats and breathing and groaning and the squeaking springs of the bed in the room directly upstairs from this one and people shouting in the street and a helicopter flying overhead and--

Matt clamps his control back into place and filters it all out. He's still laying on his back, on top of someone, and all the breathing patterns in the room are slowing down to normal so they must have all finished. He raises a hand and wipes come off of his eyelid and forehead with his fingertips, then off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You back with us?" Someone helps him get up off the man underneath him and stand up.

"I could use a washcloth," Matt replies, coughing a little at the rawness in his throat. There's the sound of running water in the bathroom (pipes are rusting out, leaching iron into the tap water, and there's a clogged drain somewhere on the fourth floor), then someone starts to put a wet cloth into his hand and hesitates.

"You, uh, need some help cleaning up? I mean, not being able to see and all." He's tempted to jerk the cloth out of the guy's hand, but the distracting itch is finally gone and while he's going to feel horrible about all of this tomorrow, at the moment he's just pleasantly relieved.

"Sure, that would be great," he replies, and lets the stranger gently wipe at his face and body (as gentle as cheap cotton with rough tangles in the threads that's worn from being washed a thousand times can be).

When he's done, he hands Matt the cloth and says, "I'll let you do your own junk and your ass, not like anyone on the street's gonna see that anyway." Matt nods at him and carefully cleans himself as best as he can. It's not like he's really clean anyway -- he can smell all six of them sticking to his skin -- but it'll do to get him back home.

"Can someone please hand me my clothes?" he asks, and there's some shuffling as people look around and sort through which clothing is whose, but then someone grabs his hand and directs it to a stack on the edge of the bed. Matt winces when he picks up his leg to put on his underwear, but it's not as bad as he'd expected. He'll be walking funny and unable to sit comfortably for a few days, but nothing to really knock him out of commission (just enough to make finals a little more agonizing).

Once he's got his clothes and his shoes back on and he's checked that his phone and wallet are still in his pockets, someone walks up to him with tentative footsteps and puts his glasses and cane in his hands. It's the first guy from the bar, and when Matt nods his thanks, he says, "Hey man, any time you want to party with us again, you know where to find us." There's the rustle of him reaching in his pocket, pulling out his wallet, and getting out some cash, and then he's pressing a too-heavy wad of bills into Matt's hand. "For the cab fare, and then some. I know you said you're not a pro, but my buddies all felt like you earned something extra."

He thinks about refusing it. He should refuse it. He's not a whore, this isn't a job -- he's a lawyer, or about to be, anyway, and taking money for sex is illegal. On the other hand, after paying for law school there's not much left of his inheritance from his dad, and he probably owes Foggy a night out to make up for how irritable he's been lately, so he just nods and takes it. It's not worth the fight, and in stark contrast to how he's felt for the last two weeks, fighting is the last thing Matt wants to do right now.

***

Foggy's asleep when Matt gets home, but the next morning he's nothing but questions. Foggy is incredibly observant -- a trait that will make him a great lawyer -- and he figures in the awkward limp, the shifting in his seat at breakfast, and the relaxed look on Matt's face, and asks, "What the hell did you do last night, man? Fuck the entire law school soccer club?"

Matt laughs. "Something like that." He deflects the rest of Foggy's enthusiastic cross-examination with vagueries and Foggy lets him.

After all, Matt already has plenty of practice keeping secrets from his best friend -- what's one more?

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on tumblr at marmolita.tumblr.com!


End file.
